


freedom, beauty, truth, and love

by jxmjars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Hate Sex, Human Trafficking, Kidnapped Draco Malfoy, Like Moulin Rouge, M/M, Moulin Rouge AU, Multi, NSFW, POC Harry Potter, Rough Sex, Sex, Trigger Warnings, auror!Harry Potter, harry with a man bun bc yes pls, loving relationship, minor references to rape, minor references to sexual assault, more tags to come, prostitute!draco malfoy, trigger - Freeform, warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24983365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jxmjars/pseuds/jxmjars
Summary: It was ten years after the second wizarding war and Auror Harry Potter had been sent to Paris undercover, investigating the Moulin Rouge’s illegal trafficking of witches and wizards to partake in their prostitution rings. When there, Harry is met with a familiar face who had fallen victim to Henri Zidler’s profits. Harry finds himself falling in love and wonders to himself - is love enough to save his beloved from the twisted fate that awaits him?Inspired by Baz Luhrman's 2001 jukebox musical film and Broadway musical, 'Moulin Rouge'.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	1. welcome to the moulin rouge

Ten years after the Second Wizarding War, Harry Potter found himself in a small, sketchy Parisian apartment, working undercover on a human trafficking case. There was a cigarette hanging from his lips as he read over the case files once more. There wasn’t much information on the victims, very few confirmed trafficked cases, but each suspected case caused Harry’s stomach to twist and turn in fear and disgust. He’d been sent to investigate the Moulin Rouge, a place in which many of the dancers and prostitutes had been trafficked - many of which were from the British wizarding community, which is where Harry came in. He had been sent, alone, by the Ministry to investigate British victims alongside the French Ministry of Magic. He was expected to be there for as long as it takes to discover which of the dancers from Britain had been trafficked and expected to work under illegally trafficked conditions. 

Harry flicked the ash from the tip of his cigarette, a shaken sigh escaping his lips. This was going to be one of his more harrowing cases. It was almost guaranteed that he would encounter several people who would be expected to sell themselves to procure money for the club, and the thought alone sent a chill down his spine. From his research, Harry had discovered that the Moulin Rouge forced people of all genders to work for them, a belief that would attract more clientele; much like closeted wizards who would come to satisfy their needs. Harry had undergone mental evaluations prior to his deployment, he had to ensure that he was fit to endure the sights he was going to see. They had warned him of physical abuse, psychological torment, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, and the effects each of these had on the individual. Whatever he encountered, he convinced himself he was ready for it. He had to be ready for it, otherwise, he would fail spectacularly. 

A knock at the door broke Harry from his thoughts, causing him to abruptly close the case file. He stood up and straightened himself out, in case it was a housekeeper or a French Auror. With a clear of his throat, Harry opened the door to the guest behind the door. He was met with the sight of his temporary colleague, Leo Latrec. Leo had been undercover investigating the club for a few months now, his understanding greater than Harry’s own at this present moment. Leo had requested for a British Auror, he believed a fresher insight would be beneficial, not to mention it would benefit the British victims if they had law enforcement from their home soil taking them away from their torture. 

“Bonjour, Monsieur Potter,” Leo said, stepping into the room and clearing his throat. “I believe we have to begin preparing for your first visit to the Moulin Rouge.” Leo’s French accent was thick, yet he was fluent in English making it easier for Harry to understand what he was saying to him. 

Harry nodded weakly and closed the door behind his colleague, his back still turned to the other as he rubbed a hand down his face. This was going to be a long night for him. Before saying anything, Harry gestured to the empty seat at the table of his apartment, the case files sitting scattered. Leo smiled weakly and took a seat, crossing his legs and leaning back. 

“When do we go out?” Harry asked, taking his seat once more. He opened the case file he had just been looking at, one explaining the persons of interest to the case, the ringleaders as such. Harry’s eye zoned in on the owner of the club, Henri Zidler. He was a petite red-faced man with a dark moustache curled up at the lips. The photo Leo had provided showed Zidler proudly stood on the stage of the Moulin Rouge, waving adieu to the patrons before him. 

“We will leave here at nine pm promptly,” Leo said quietly, helping himself to the decanter of Firewhisky Harry had brought with him from London. “I have brought my dress robes.” 

Harry nodded and ran a hand through his unruly hair. He would have to shower first, adopt a glamour and dress for the occasion. He had been sifting through the different glamours he had previously adopted. Of course, he had his muggle contact lenses handy and if push came to shove, he would use concealer to hide the lightning bolt scar if necessary. But Harry knew that even in France, ten years after the Second Wizarding War, the chances of him being recognised were too high so it was certainly better to use a glamour. 

“What do we need to cover before we go out?” Harry asked softly, his fingers tracing over the photo of Zidler. He ignored the anger bubbling inside him; it was a new side effect of the job. Normally he would be able to avert it, but this case was too sensitive and dare he say, heartbreaking, for him to ignore the anger he felt for these victims. 

“We need to ensure that your cover is secure.” 

For the next hour, Leo discussed what was expected of Harry, covering all parts of the persona Harry must adopt. Harry was to go in under the guise of a struggling writer from London, seeking to write the production that Zidler and a mysterious new owner of the Moulin Rouge had wished to put on. It became clear to Harry, once he arrived in Paris, that there were talks of the Moulin Rouge being turned into a theatre for the aristocratic wizards of Paris. From his own experience with pureblood aristocrats, Harry knew they would turn a blind eye to crime or feign ignorance to the clear signs of trafficking in front of them so long as they were getting their entertainment. However, many patrons of the Moulin Rouge were male aristocrats hiding their sexuality or wishing a thrill in their monotonous lives. 

Soon enough, Harry was ready to leave. He was dressed in his favoured suit, one that Ginny had bought him before they ended their engagement. It was a light blue ensemble, with a black pinstripe lining each leg with a black rim completing the edges of the jacket. Normally, he would wear a tie with it, but this time he opted for a black bowtie that rested untied around his neck, accentuating the open collar. He hid his holly wand in the inside pocket of his jacket, unsure if he’ll need it or not - but he decided it was better safe than sorry. Leo, on the other hand, was dressed in a black suit, fitting his slim form in all the right places. He followed Harry suit in leaving his bowtie undone around an open collar. It wouldn’t be an understatement to say that they were dressed to impress; they had to gain the trust of the patrons and staff of the Moulin Rouge. 

“Remember, ‘Arry, you must avoid being compelled to sleep with the clients,” Leo said carefully before they left. “We cannot risk the operation and our own reputation by falling into the hands of Zidler.” 

Harry nodded confidently in reply. He understood the protocol, he knew what could happen to his own reputation should he be caught fraternising inappropriately with the dancers of the Moulin Rouge. Leo and Harry were both of the understanding that they did have to show an air of attraction towards the dancers, allowing for some private dances that could lead to information, but anything that crossed the line was forbidden inherently. 

The Moulin Rouge was an infamous muggle cabaret in the late nineteenth century until its untimely demise at the grips of a fire that ripped through the walls. For decades, it sat gathering dust, crumbling at the seams. It remained that way until French Wizard, Henri Zidler, bought the property in the nineteen-eighties. He had been able to rebuild the property to its former state, the infamous windmill whirring above it. To the muggles, it appeared that a fanatic had bought the property and restored the exterior to match the original, while the interior was Zidlers personal home. However, to the wizards of Paris, it was very clear that this was a club like no other. Inside the Moulin Rouge, there were trafficked wizards and squibs alike, all forced into modern-day slavery. Zidler forced the dancers to dress in burlesque costumes, the men in corsets and heels, and the women dressed in much the same with a little more frill. 

Stepping into the Moulin Rouge, Harry felt a chill travel down his spine. He was surrounded by vibrant colours, reds and golds especially - a Gryffindors wet dream. He found himself smirking slightly, his school spirit stuck in his very soul. The air around him was thick, a musk of sweat and aftershave filling the room. The night was well and truly underway by the time Harry and Leo arrived at the club, dancers already entertaining the clientele. Harry noticed that several of the private, closed-off booths were occupied, no doubt patrons frittering away money on private dances - or more. 

“Tonight is the night in which the new owner of the club is expected to make an appearance,” Leo said, leading Harry into one of the more public booths. “He is here to witness the club in action before making a decision.” 

Harry listened intently all while keeping his eyes on the dancers. It was curiosity mixed with determination to gather intel. Harry had been chosen for this job due to his ability to hold a persona together better than his colleagues back home in London. 

“There is one dancer. Lustrous Draconis,” Leo mused, pulling out a dainty silver cigarette case. He began to roll a cigarette, filling it with tobacco and then licking the skin to seal it. “It is believed that Zidler will be using him as a pawn for the new owner. If Lustrous Draconis can win him over, then it is almost guaranteed that the club will be bought.” Harry nodded as Leo spoke, taking in all of this new information. “There is a catch. Zidler will be arranging a marriage between them, making our job just that bit more difficult.” 

Harry gulped quietly. It was not uncommon in the trafficking world for victims to be sold and married off, but Leo was quite right if this Lustrous Draconis married the new owner, it would make their job entirely more difficult. The marriage could be annulled and deemed illegal, but the lasting effects on the victim would be extreme.

Before Harry could reply to Leo’s statement, he was interrupted by Henri Zidler himself. Seeing Zidler in the flesh stirred anger that Harry wasn’t sure he possessed. The cruel bastard was grinning at his clientele, his cheeks rosy around the curled moustache. Harry curled a fist under the table of their booth, sure his knuckles were going white with the pressure. Harry wanted to punch the smug bastard from here to next week, but even he knew that he couldn’t jeopardise the operation just yet, he had to wait until they had gathered enough evidence to recover victims safely and make an arrest. 

“Welcome to the Moulin Rouge!” Zidler grinned, waving to the crowd. He had his wand pointed to his neck, amplifying his voice to the crowds around them. “I am ever so pleased to see you all, as I’m sure you are too!” He chuckled happily. “Tonight, we have a special surprise for you little chickens!” The crowd looked in awe, all clearly eager to see the surprise the Zidler had planned for them.

The club flushed into darkness, small gasps escaping the lips of the patrons surrounding Harry and Leo. The outline of Leo’s features told Harry that he was used to these theatrics, but Harry couldn’t help but feel in awe of how Zidler could draw the crowd in the way he had. 

“I present to you,” Zidler said, an air of satisfaction in his voice. “The Lustrous Draconis…” 

A spotlight filled the darkness of the club, highlighting that the Lustrous Draconis was about to enter the stage. Much to Harry’s surprise, however, a trapeze swing appeared. Sitting atop the bar was the Lustrous Draconis, clad only in a silver corset tightly hugging his hips, white heels, lacy stockings, and obnoxious silver nipple tassels. His face was dipped, hiding the illusion of his identity for mere moments. Harry, however, looked at this man intently, a lump forming in his throat.  _ The white-blond hair, it looks too familiar,  _ he thought. 

“Diamonds are forever…” The man started to sing, a British accent in the tone of his voice, meaning that this person was definitely on Harry’s list to help. “They’re all I need to please me…” 

The man looked over the crowd, a smirk toying at his lips as he sang to the patrons below him on the swing. It wasn’t until the man looked in the direction of the booth Harry and Leo occupied, that Harry caught sight of the man’s face. Memories came flooding back, memories of school, arguments, hexes and curses, all filled his head as it registered who this Lustrous Draconis was. His heart pounded and his anger only heightened as the true identity of this dancer fell into place. This identity opened up a new can of worms for Harry, perhaps a conflict of interest, but it only made him all the more determined to get him out of this damned club and shut its doors. 


	2. shut up and dance with me

Harry felt a lump in his throat as he looked at the sight before him. His schoolboy nemesis was before him, dressed in skimpy burlesque lingerie, hanging himself from a trapeze as he entertained the clientele below him. 

_ Draco Malfoy. _

Harry took him in, a lump caught in his throat. Suddenly, feelings from his time at Hogwarts came flooding back. It was a tightly kept secret that Harry had harboured a secret crush on one Draco Lucius Malfoy. It was the driving force for the obsessive stalking. But Harry wasn’t out, and he didn’t come out until after he and Ginny had gone their separate ways, so Harry kept that unexpected crush very close to his chest. Yet seeing Malfoy dressed the way he was in front of him… Well, that brought back a multitude of repressed feelings. 

As he watched Malfoy entertain a vague memory struck him. He remembered a missing person report filed by Narcissa Malfoy. Draco had gone missing suddenly just after his release from Azkaban. There had been a brief investigation across British soil, but the Ministry decided they couldn’t justify the funding needed to carry out a full scale missing persons investigation on a former Death Eater. Little did the Ministry know, Draco Malfoy had been kidnapped and sold into the sex trade. Draco Malfoy was a victim of human trafficking, and although they had been sworn enemies for much of their education, Harry would be damned if he allowed Malfoy to continue being bought and sold. He would do his job and bring the Malfoy family, among others, the peace of mind they yearn for. 

“That is Draco Malfoy,” Leo whispers, leaning into Harry, a cigarette between his fingers. “He is Zidler’s pride and joy. He is promised to the new owner. Marriage, I believe.” 

Harry felt a surge of rage, he couldn’t take his eyes away from the ghostly figure. Draco had climbed down from the trapeze and was dancing his way around the patrons, seducing them in ways Harry ached for. 

“A dance!” Malfoy said from the stage, a wicked smirk growing on his face. He looked around the dance floor, his eyes fluttering each booth. “For the most handsome man… Of my choosing.” By this point, he had climbed down from the stage and was circling the patrons, using a white feather to tease them as he inspected them. Harry suspected that he was looking for this illustrious new owner, possibly planning to use this opportunity to seduce him further. 

“You.”

Harry looked up at Malfoy, praying that he didn’t see through his glamour. Harry had gone for an appearance similar to his own, except his lightning bolt scar was no longer visible, his eye colour no longer the emerald green Malfoy would recognise instead a muted hazel, and his circular glasses were replaced by muggle contact lenses. It would only take someone close to Harry to recognise exactly who he was. Yet here he sat, panicking that Malfoy recognised him and chose to dance with him to taunt him. Harry looked to Leo, a thick lump nestled in his throat. All Leo did in reply was shrug, taking a sip of the flaming firewhisky cradled in his fingers. 

“Oh,” Malfoy pouted, noticing that Harry hadn’t moved.

Did these special patrons normally jump at the chance to dance with Malfoy? Heaven knows that Harry was eager to. Harry, were he not surrounded by criminal activity, would have jumped at this chance. Nobody around him knew who he was, the feelings that were bubbling inside him. 

“It appears he doesn’t want to dance!” Malfoy pouted, a whine in his voice as he turned to face the rest of the crowd. He let out a dramatic sigh and dipped his face into his collarbone, the pout still prominent on his face. “It’s my choice and he doesn’t want to dance!” Malfoy was clearly encouraging the crowd, playing at his strengths in attempts to coax Harry into a dance. It was working. Too well. The crowd around them erupted into a chorus of ‘boooo!’ or ‘dance with him!’. 

Malfoy had turned back to Harry, holding his hand out for the dark-haired wizard to take. There was still a pout pulling at his lips, his grey eyes pleading. There was something behind them, a hint of fear. Harry knew then that if he didn’t take Malfoy’s hand, the blond would undoubtedly suffer for the actions of a patron. So before he knew it, his hand was in Malfoy’s and he was whisked onto the dancefloor, all air of fear diffused from the blond. Perhaps this hiccup could work in both their favours. 

Malfoy and Potter danced, Harry’s arms around Malfoy’s waist loosely which allowed for the other to dance a little more seductively. Harry assumed it was all part of the job, Malfoy had to entertain. He was presumably paid to entertain the patrons, and taking their hands for a seductive public dance must be one of them. They were joined by the other dancers, all having followed suit and taken a patron to dance with. Malfoy and Potter were still the centres of attention, perhaps it was the entrancing looks of Malfoy. Compared to the other dancers who were dressed in darker colours, Malfoy was dressed in whites and silvers. It would have surely been impossible to keep your eyes from him. 

As their dance came to a close, Malfoy leaned into Harry’s embrace, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. “The elephant, midnight, don’t be late.” He whispered before pulling away and giggling. 

Harry stood there, almost frozen in the spot as he watched Malfoy walk away from him. It was peculiar, hearing a giggle from Malfoy, to see him rock his hips as he walked away from Potter. He supposed it was part of the act. Malfoy had to act like this to avoid some cruel punishment. Once he regained himself, he made his way back to the booth. Leo gave him a curious look, clearly picking up on Harry’s flustered state. 

“Enchanting, isn’t he?” Leo mused, lighting up a cigarette and paying no proper attention to the mental state Harry found himself in. 

Harry gulped and grabbed his now refilled glass of firewhisky, downing it in one. A gasp escaped his throat as he felt the burn of it against the back of his throat. But it calmed his nerves. He toiled with telling Leo exactly who Malfoy was. There were plenty of risks in revealing the true nature of this Lustrous Draconis. Harry could be taken off the case, replaced with someone who had the views of the British wizarding community and didn't care for one deemed a criminal, unworthy of help. Yet by telling Leo it could increase Malfoy’s chances of survival and even freedom.

“Leo, I should- I should probably tell you something,” Harry said, staring down at the empty rocks glass. Leo looked up at Harry, a look of intrigue on his face. Confessing this wasn’t going to come easy to Harry, he was risking his position on the case by revealing Malfoy’s identity. “I know who Draco Malfoy is. Personally.” And so Harry spent the next half an hour retelling the tales of his archnemesis, Draco Malfoy. He spoke of Malfoy in a way that was deeply personal, probably giving away the fact that he was once crushing on the blond man, and even more so now he had danced with him. 

Leo was taken aback, his mouth agape as he processed what Harry was telling him. It was clear from the expression on his tanned face that he was unsure of how to approach this topic best. Harry had all but assumed that he would have to leave Paris with the arrival of the morning sun, knowing that there was a severe conflict of interest in this particular case. Then Leo spoke. 

“‘Arry, I think you must be very cautious,” he said, eyes firmly on Harry’s. “But I do believe we could use this to our advantage.” 

The clock was nearing midnight by the time Harry and Leo had emerged from the entrance of the Moulin Rouge. Leo had encouraged Harry to go to the elephant; it would allow them to gather more intel for the case. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what Malfoy or Leo had meant by the elephant, but he was assured by his colleague that he wasn’t going to miss it. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted a large sculpture in the shape of an elephant. It was much too large to be life-size. There was a balcony protruding from the forehead of the elephant, illuminated by the yellow glow of lights from the elephant’s interior. Harry eventually found the staircase that led the way up to the apartment within the head of the elephant. With every step, Harry grew more and more nervous about this meeting. What if Malfoy recognised him? He hadn’t expected to meet anyone that knew him personally, so he hadn’t worked on ways to mask his quirks - he was still himself, except wearing a different face. If Malfoy was as perceptive as he once was, or remembered Harry at all, he would be able to pick up on these mannerisms. 

Harry straightened himself out in a mirror in the hallway, hoping that his mop of hair could be tamed. That was something that hadn’t ever changed, his hair still grew in a multitude of directions and tying it back into a bun couldn’t tame the wicked fly-aways that happened. 

“You can do this, Potter,” he whispered to himself, shaking away any nerves. “He won’t know it’s you.” 

Harry walked to the door, knocking gently on it. He shook himself out once more, desperately trying to rid himself of any nerves he was feeling. Just a few moments later, the door opened and there was Malfoy, leaning against the door with a playful smirk. Harry’s breath hitched in his throat as he took in the sight before him. Malfoy had changed from the silver and white corset he was wearing in the club. Now he was wearing a black corset, sinched tightly at the waist, matching lingerie, and a black lace kimono that hung off one shoulder. Malfoy looked simply breathtaking, more attractive than he did while they were at Hogwarts. To say that Harry felt inadequate compared to Malfoy would be an understatement. 

“Well hello,” Malfoy said seductively, grabbing Harry by his shirt and pulling him into the main room of the elephant. “How exciting it is to meet you, Sir.” Malfoy was completely unaware of who Harry was, thankfully. But it was quite unnerving how forward he was being. 

Harry straightened his shirt out once Malfoy had let him go. He couldn’t help but look around him, taking in the surroundings. Based on the appearance of this room, Harry couldn’t help but assume that this room was left for the highest paying suitors. It was a deep red colour - the colour of love, presumably. In the centre of the room sat a bed, covered with pillows mostly, the distinct lack of a duvet showing that this room was most certainly reserved for sexual activities. The thought of Mal- Draco having to sell himself here unnerved Harry. The pair may have had their differences, but Harry wouldn’t wish being trafficked and forced to sell oneself on anyone. Harry didn’t have a problem with sex workers, so long as it was consensual. The work that Draco was doing was certainly not consensual. 

“You must be parched,” Draco mused, grabbing a champagne bottle from the ice bucket and uncorking it to pour a glass of champagne each. Harry nodded slightly, nerves still in his system. This was quite unlike him, after all, his training had battered any obvious signs of nerves and anxiety out of him. Then again, Harry could argue that it was part of an act. Harry hadn’t officially been introduced to Zidler yet, or any of the dancers, so he would keep up the act. To anyone who asks, Harry Potter was James Evans - a writer from London willing to help the Bohemians write their upcoming show that would be performed at the Moulin Rouge should the new owner wish to invest. 

“S-S-So, poetry?” Harry asked, his voice shaking with nerves. This was the beginning of the plan. He must sell himself to Draco as a writer, eager to write the play for the Moulin Rouge. 

Draco turned to look at Harry, the same wicked smirk Harry had seen too often that night tugging at his lips. “Poetry? Mhm, I do like some poetry. Why don’t we sit and make wonderful poetry?” 

Harry found himself spluttering, running a hand through the black hair that was falling from his loose bun. “I, uhm, I prefer to stand while I deliver my poetry,” Harry said as Draco moves ever so slightly closer to him. “Y-you can sit down. My poetry can be quite long and difficult to take.” He smiled weakly. Draco had looked taken aback, but simply took a hold of the front of Harry’s shirt once more, pulling him closer. Draco had pulled Harry closer, moving them both back to the bed. Before Harry knew it, he was lying on top of Draco, their lips almost brushing. The blond took control, rolling them so he was straddling Harry. 

“Let’s make poetry,” Draco groaned. The smirk still on his face as he started to kiss Harry’s neck roughly. Their breaths hitched as it became clear that they were both getting rather aroused by this contact. It was always easy for Harry to stand to attention, that wasn’t hard to hide. But for Draco, Harry assumed, it was part of his servitude. He had to be able to please clients. 

Harry was able to pull himself away, his wavy black hair now loose against his shoulders. Surely Draco didn’t invite him up here just for sex? Whatever the reason, Harry started to pace nervously. He looked to Draco, his throat dry as he took him in. Draco was laid on his back, a playful smile on his lips. This was all just an act. It was an act to keep him safe, Harry told himself. After a moment of uncertainty, Harry began to speak. They were lines from a muggle song, but Draco wouldn’t know that. The prat had been kept away from muggle pop-culture thanks to his purist familial beliefs. Of course, Harry wasn’t sure that Draco hadn’t been exposed to muggle pop-culture since his kidnapping, but it was worth a shot. 

“It’s a little bit funny,” Harry said, choking on his words a little. “This feeling inside. I’m- I’m not one of those who can easily hide-” 

“Oh, words! Naughty words!” Draco said, rolling onto his front. He was acting so uncharacteristically. It was unnerving to Harry, seeing his former nemesis act in such a way. But still, he continued. 

“I don’t have much money, but boy if I did, I’d buy a big house where we both could live…” 

Draco was making a ruckus on the bed, rolling around on it as if the words Harry was saying were orgasmic. It was without a doubt one of the most disturbing and embarrassing things Harry had endured, but he was here to investigate the conditions Draco was living in and to cause a scene now would threaten the entire operation. However, once it got too much to bear, Harry sat next to Draco. He had managed to entice the blond to sit up, taking his hands in his once he was upright. Harry continued speaking the lyrics to the song, feeling proud that he remembered the lyrics to this ridiculous Elton John song. Eventually, Draco softened, listening to Harry’s words. Something inside him clicked, clearly. 

“Oh, Sir Alarie,” Draco whispered, leaning closer to Harry, almost taking his lips in a kiss. Harry pulled away, his brows furrowing. 

“Sir Alarie? I’m- I’m not Sir Alarie.” 

Draco pushed Harry away, his face turning to anger. The Draco that Harry once knew slowly returning. “What do you mean? Have you not just bought over the Moulin Rouge?”

Harry smiled and shook his head. “No, I-” he hesitated, considering for a moment whether to tell Draco the truth about who he was or not. “I’m a writer. Leo, he- he said there was a need for one at the Moulin Rouge?” 

The anger that had filled Draco’s face soon turned to horror. Zidler had set up a meeting. Sir Alarie was expected in the elephant with Draco, alone. “You have to leave at once. It is not safe for you to be here.” Draco was on his feet, ushering Harry towards the door, desperately trying to hide the fear that had flashed over him. “Please, go!” Draco said, opening the door for Harry. A squeak from Draco indicated that leaving wasn’t safe for Harry either. “Hide!” He hissed, lifting up the tablecloth and gesturing wildly under it. Harry reluctantly obliged, keeping his wand close in case it was needed. 

Once Harry was secure under the table, Draco straightened himself out, reapplying some of his dark lipstick to hide the dishevelment. Once he was ready, he waited for the knock at the door. It was certainly imminent and it terrified Draco, Harry could see that clear as day from his squat. While terrifying as it was for Draco, Harry was somewhat grateful for the fact he was hidden under the table. It was a perfect opportunity to gather more information, perhaps this Sir Alarie would let slip the nature of the game. Oh, how he wished he had his invisibility cloak, it would have made things much easier. 

The dreaded knock came and Harry swore he saw Draco pale even more, which was impressive given the fact he was already as pale as the Hogwarts ghosts. Harry heard Draco’s voice shake as he welcomed the mysterious Sir Alarie in. Sir Alarie was a tall man who was thin in build. Harry couldn’t help but notice that he was strikingly attractive. If Harry hadn’t already known that he was dangerous, he probably would have found himself aroused by the mere presence of him. 

Harry couldn’t quite pick up on the entire exchange. He was sure he was missing some vital details, but then again it could have been flirtatious exchanges he was missing. Harry had begun to lose focus, their encounter was more flirting than the actual business of investing or trading of magical beings. He sat there for a while longer, staring at his light blue trousers. It wasn’t until he had heard panicked words from Draco that he was once more alert. He stared up at the table cloth and choked slightly. He could see Sir Alarie’s legs and it was most clear that if Harry even made the quietest of noises, he would be caught and Draco could be punished - and the thought of that scared Harry to the bones. 

“Yes, my love?” Sir Alarie said, turning to face the frantic Draco. “Is something the matter?” Harry was quite glad that their exchange was in English, he would have been hopeless if they were speaking in French. Did Draco even know French? 

“I- uh- I thought maybe we should sit!” Draco said, pulling at Sir Alarie’s tie and pulling him to the bed. Harry didn’t need to look at Sir Alarie to know that there was a wicked smirk on his face. Who wouldn’t have such a smirk if the star of the Moulin Rouge was pulling them to bed for a rendezvous? Harry felt jealousy rear its ugly head and it was taking all his might not to act impulsively. 

“Oh, straight to business?” The aristocrat smirked, running a hand along Draco’s thigh. Draco smirked softly and allowed himself to be kissed roughly. If Draco was disgusted or fearful, Harry couldn’t tell. This was all an act of survival, for both of them. 

“Actually,” Draco mused quietly, cupping Sir Alarie’s cheek, “I thought that we ought to wait a while. You know, allow some sexual tension to make for a better experience overall.” 

Sir Alarie appeared to like that idea, the idea of getting to flirt with Draco and build up some tension before fucking him roughly. Harry didn’t like that idea. No, Harry didn’t like it one bit. But it meant that Draco was buying himself more time, so he had to be grateful. 

“Well, my love, I shall leave you.” Sir Alarie said, standing tall after a while of mindless kissing. “We shall court for a while and allow for our wedding night to be extravagant.” 

Draco feigned excitement, nodding eagerly. “Yessir.” He smirked, still sat quite seductively. “I shall look forward to it.” 

With that, Sir Alarie had left the penthouse of the elephant, and Harry climbed out from under the table. As he stood, all the vertebrae in his back managed to crack, with his knees promptly following. He groaned as he straightened out and in his stretching, he almost missed an angry sneer from Malfoy. 

“What in Merlin’s sake do you think you’re doing!? Wriggling your way in here! You could have gotten us both killed!” Harry hadn’t realised how much he missed the angry sneer on Draco’s face, it brought back many memories good and bad. 

“With all due respect,” Harry said, not really bothering to feign an accent, “I was led to believe I was welcome here.” 

Draco paused for a moment, his sneer somewhat fading from view. Harry knew then that he was in for it. Before, he was overexaggerating an English accent, trying to make it different to his own. But the game was up now. If Malfoy remembered Harry’s voice, he would surely be done for. 

“Drop your glamour.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So cliffhangers are really becoming a thing for this fic, huh? 
> 
> Please leave kudos and spare a comment to let me know what you're thinking!! 
> 
> There's not really a schedule for this going up, I'm kinda working on it when I have must but I promise to try and get it out as quickly as possible. 
> 
> As always, thank you so so much to chaoticowlpost (Tumblr) for betaing this fic (ao3 is being a dick and not letting me hyperlink so check here out!!)!!


	3. so exciting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! TRIGGER WARNING !!!
> 
> This is a chapter that references to rape, sexual abuse, drug abuse and alcoholism. It's towards the end of the chapter and nothing is explicit, it's mentions of the events that have happened. I do not go into detail at all. I'm only warning you all in case the mentions of it can trigger you - if you still want to proceed with reading the chapter this warning is here so you can mentally prepare yourself.

“What?” Harry almost spluttered, walking backwards to the door. He was hoping to make an escape without having to show Draco who he was. Harry’s hand was on the doorknob, twisting it carefully as he watched Draco’s sneer form once more. It appeared that even war, Azkaban, and kidnapping couldn’t strip Draco of his signature sneer. 

Draco was walking closer, each step more determined than the last. “I asked you to drop your glamour. It’s clear you’re using one,”  _ Potter.  _ The unspoken word was all Harry needed to hear. Harry shook his head, opening the door and turning to leave. But on the other side of the door, he was met with Sir Alarie’s bodyguard, still hanging around. He jumped forward with a squeak and ran to the other side of the room. Draco looked incredibly exasperated as he crossed his arms. “I know you have a glamour up, one’s accent doesn’t suddenly change that quickly.” 

Harry felt cornered, momentarily forgetting that he was a wizard and could simply disapparate out of the elephant. He focussed for a moment, thinking of what to do and then he realised he could just disapparate. He attempted to, his face turning into concentration so he didn’t splinch himself en route. Instead, he was stuck where he was, a face resembling constipation covering his features. 

“Ah yes, there’s anti-apparition wards around the Moulin Rouge. You cannot get in nor out.” Draco smirked, sitting on the bed once again. “You cannot leave. Now, drop your glamour. I have my suspicions about who you are and I wish to see if I am correct.” 

Harry was hesitant, that much was clear. By dropping his glamour, he would most certainly be caught and the jig would be up. If Draco had any instinct of self-preservation, he would tell Harry to leave and not to interfere. There would be two possible outcomes to Draco realising that Harry was there investigating the Moulin Rouge. One: he keeps it a secret and provides support to ensure his freedom, should he want it. Two: Draco would immediately turn Harry into Zidler and the jig would be up. Yet something tugged at Harry. A niggling feeling that told him that Draco Malfoy would never willingly sell himself for the profit of a French wannabe aristocrat and that feeling overruled the fear of being turned in. He raised his wand to his temple and muttered the charm to drop the glamour. Suddenly, blue eyes were replaced by the emerald green and the lightning bolt scar returned to its rightful place on Harry’s forehead. Once he was sure his glamour was down, Harry looked up at Draco with a faint smile tugging at his lips. He wanted to burst out into jazz hands yelling, ‘ _ surprise!’  _ but even Harry Oblivious Potter knew that that wasn’t a good idea where Draco was concerned. 

The dropping of Harry’s glamour was met with silence. Draco appeared to look annoyed at his schoolboy nemesis’s appearance in the private elephant suite. But there was something behind his eyes that wasn’t there before. Draco had hope. It was clear from the minute Harry showed his true appearance. 

“I was right,” Draco whispered softly, folding his arms across his chest as though he was suddenly overcome with nerves. Harry opened his mouth to say something but was quickly quietened as Draco finished his thought. “What are you doing here, Potter? Have you run out of whores in London for you to fuck your way through?” 

Harry stared the other down, his fearful expression changing to one of anger. Malfoy had no right to say that. He had no idea who Harry had become since the war ended. Yes, he had slept with a few prostitutes after he left Ginny, but that wasn’t the point. Malfoy had no right to stand there and accuse him of sleeping his way through London. Harry simply scoffed in reply and shook his head. “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Malfoy.” He paused momentarily, looking at the other carefully. He looked for signs of weakness, desperation. But there were none. Draco was like marble stone, beautiful to look at, yet it was hard and cold to the touch. “It’s Auror Potter, by the way. And I’d appreciate it if you called me James Evans.” Harry said calmly, not allowing the anger he felt to seep through into his words. In those moments, Harry pondered why he ever felt an attraction to the other. Maybe it was the strikingly good looks, maybe it was the rare moments that Malfoy seemed human. Whatever it was, they were quashed with Malfoy’s accusatory words. 

Draco stood, dumbfounded. Harry could see thoughts running wild across Malfoy’s features. It was clear he was calculating an appropriate response. In school, Draco was always quick to retort, degrading statements quickly thrown the way of Harry, Hermione and Ron. This was different, new. Clearly, Draco had to reign in his usual pompous personality, the situation he had been forced into taking its toll. There were a few times that Draco went to reply, his mouth opening only to close only a moment later. Eventually, he settled on a response, cutting through the awkward silence that had covered them. “You didn’t answer my question, Auror Potter. Why are you here in Paris?” There was hope in Draco’s tone, something that could be missed if you weren’t looking for it. 

“I would tell you, but I’m not sure I can trust you, Malfoy. You haven’t given me a reason to.” Harry said, picking up an ornament and inspecting it half-heartedly. He wasn’t going to give in that easily. Of course, he wanted to tell Draco everything he could about why he was there and it was taking a great deal of control not to tell him there on the spot. But Malfoy hadn’t explicitly given Harry reason to trust him. 

Draco looked a little pained, like the element of hope was taken from him. “Fine, if you won’t tell me, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind Zidler discovering that there are undercover British Aurors in the Moulin Rouge. I’m sure that’ll go swimmingly for you.” He snapped, sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing one leg over the other. 

Harry let out a long sigh. He knew Draco would tell Zidler without hesitation. He was an ambitious rat who sought power and telling Zidler about Harry’s identity would provide Draco with some form of security within the Moulin Rouge. Draco could ruin the whole operation without realising that he was risking his freedom in the process. So Harry was prepared to tell him. He was prepared to tell him everything just to spare both of their freedom. However, as Harry opened his mouth to speak, the door opened and once again, Sir Alarie was stood in the doorway. Thankfully, Harry had managed to bring his glamour back in a matter of seconds.

“Foul play?” He said, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared between Malfoy and Potter. Harry and Draco were stunned into silence, unsure of how best to approach this appearance. Harry believed he was screwed. This was it, he was going to be sent back to England and all hope for the victims lost. He would never see Draco again… The thought alone scared him, but he supposed he would get over it. Maybe. 

“Oh, Sir Alarie!” Draco stood and went to straighten the other’s coat, a wistful smile on his face. “Monsieur Evans here was just discussing the play! Isn’t that right, Monsieur?” Draco turned to look at Harry, his eyes pleading. 

“Uh,” Harry cleared his throat. “Yes, Sir. I had a very important plot point to discuss and I saw the light on in the elephant… I’m afraid it couldn’t wait.” 

Sir Alarie nodded and crossed his arms. He looked positively curious, if not a little angry. “You’re a writer,” he mused, clearly wondering whether or not to believe this tale they spun. “The play Zidler wishes to put on, you’re the writer?” He said, taking a step forward and looking at Harry closely, almost suspiciously. 

“I do hope to be. I have a meeting with Zidler to arrange it.” Harry replied cooly, smiling softly at Sir Alarie. “He expects a draft for the first scene tomorrow, to see if what I write is, shall we say, to be up to his standards.” 

Sir Alarie nodded once again, clicking his tongue in thought. Harry wondered if this was good enough. It wasn’t exactly a lie, he was to be meeting with Zidler to arrange for the writing of the play. However, there was no truth as to why he would be there with Draco at that moment. It was rather suss.  _ Hopefully, this pompous prat is as thick as he seems, _ Harry thought. 

“Well,” the aristocrat forced a smile, once again looking between Harry and Draco. “Would you care to enlighten me to what this play is about? After all, if I am to invest, I ought to know what it is about.” 

Harry and Draco exchanged a look of panic, one that they were sure Sir Alarie would have picked up on. Harry was the first to speak up, telling the aristocrat of a rough plot of a sailor who travelled to France from England. The sailor had fallen in love with a Parisian courtesan, a doomed romance from the start. You see, this Parisian courtesan was destined to marry a rich aristocrat who showered them with gifts to show their love and appreciation. The sailor and courtesan kept their love a secret, vowing to run away together at the earliest convenience. It was a brief synopsis of the play that Harry gave Sir Alarie, ensuring him that it is a work in progress and that any artistic input would be greatly appreciated. Draco agreed with everything Harry said, finding it easier to agree with what Harry was saying than to disagree. Any disagreement would bring suspicion and that was something that both Harry and Draco dreaded. 

“Interesting,” Sir Alarie said, another click of his tongue as he processed the supposed plot. “And what if I said the plot is too, what’s the word… unbelievable? Surely providing the underclasses with hope is despicable. Who would wish to see the courtesan run away with a poor sailor?” 

Harry had to bite his tongue, anger boiling within him. “Well, Monsieur,” he said, forcing a smile. “Perhaps that is all the courtesan is good for. Surely a good aristocratic man would do better than a person who sells themselves for a few moments of passion?” This retort was better than nothing, although, he didn’t find himself agreeing with this statement. Of course, the courtesan he took inspiration from was Draco, and despite the sneers and arrogance he knew Draco deserved better than the hand he was being dealt, but to say otherwise in front of Sir Alarie would be to cause outrage. Harry’s declaration, however, appeared to have worked, and soon enough Sir Alarie was bidding them goodnight and requesting that they update him in the morning with the night’s progress. 

“You need to leave, Potter. Merlin,” Draco whispered, running his hands down his tired face. “We could have been killed. Zidler doesn't fuck around when it comes to the whores of the Moulin Rouge.” Draco sounded fearful. Harry could tell from the look on his face that things had gone wrong in the past and Draco was at the hand of it. 

“Mal- Draco,” Harry said cautiously, wondering how best to approach this topic. “Have you been hurt in the past?” Whether or not Draco decided to tell Harry the truth or not, Harry knew deep down that Draco had been hurt, or worse. Harry only hoped that the other hadn't been beaten and raped for an innocent mistake. 

“I asked you to leave, Potter. I will see you tomorrow for the- the creative meeting.” Harry knew then that Draco wasn't going to give the game away so easily, and Harry decided he wasn't going to either. He gave Draco a sad nod and walked from the elephant. 

Back in his apartment, Harry sat on the sill of the obscenely large window, a small rolled cigarette between his fingers. The night had surely overcome Paris, with small floods of streetlights visible in the distance. Harry found his gaze wandering to the Moulin Rouge, taking in the red lights that lit the street around it. Leo had arranged for Harry’s apartment to be deep within Mont Matre, within spitting distance to the Moulin Rouge. It made for easy travel should they be successful with their infiltration. Within the grounds of the Moulin Rouge, Harry could see that the elephant was still lit up in all its glory, which meant that Draco was likely to still be in there entertaining. 

“‘Arry?” Harry was broken from his thoughts by a familiar French accent. Leo had poked his head around the door and was smiling faintly. “How was the meeting with Monsieur Malfoy?” 

Harry sighed with a small shrug of his shoulders as he lifted the cigarette to his lips to take a calming draw. “Malfoy knew who I was. I fucked up on the accent and he must have remembered my voice from school.” He muttered, his gaze still on the elephant. 

Leo closed the door behind him and walked over to the window, leaning on the other side of the frame. He looked at Harry with concern for a moment, before following his gaze to the elephant. “‘Arry, if you want to leave Paris, I wouldn’t blame you. This case became personal.” Leo said confidently.

“No,” Harry shook his head, not once taking his eyes from the elephant. “I don’t trust the other Aurors where Dra- Malfoy is concerned.” He muttered, flicking the cigarette end out the window. Harry had explained to Leo about Draco’s past. He had explained that Draco went missing upon his release from Azkaban. Harry didn’t trust that the British Aurors would care much for him. He didn’t trust them not to throw him back in Azkaban once he returned to British soil. 

Silence fell among them, both lost in their own thoughts on the situation. Harry was still unclear on a lot of things in regards to Draco. “Could you tell me what you know about Malfoy’s life at the Moulin Rouge?” Harry asked, now turning to look at Leo. 

Leo smiled weakly. There was pain behind it, showing that there were some aspects that Harry knew he wouldn’t like but he had to know. He wanted to know what he could. Leo sighed and went to Harry’s Firewhisky decanter, pouring them both a neat glass. “You’ll need this.” He muttered. Harry nodded in acknowledgement and let his fingers grasp the class tightly. 

“The thing you need to know about any of the dancers,” Leo sighed softly, taking a sip of the Firewhisky to ground himself. “Is that they are all incredibly traumatised, and Monsieur Malfoy is no exception.” Harry felt a lump in his throat. Leo appeared to be hesitant to speak but spoke freely despite that. Leo told Harry of the horrors the victims faced, the countless beatings and rapes they took. Zidler was the worst of all, Harry had come to realise. If any of his ‘dancers’ were not acting to their abilities, he would likely have them raped (by each other or patrons) or they would be beaten to an inch of their life and killed eventually. 

Harry took a long drink of his Firewhisky, refilling it as Leo spoke. He certainly needed to take the edge off. He knew this case was going to be harrowing, he knew it with certainty. But he hadn’t quite realised how much this case would hit him. 

“The thing with Monsieur Malfoy, however, is a little more complicated,” Leo said, an air of displeasure in his voice. “The rumours I have heard from the other dancers is that Zidler had initially forced Monsieur Malfoy to take potions to comply with his commands. According to the dancers, Monsieur Malfoy was, in the words of his colleagues, an arrogant pompous prat about it.” Harry could help but smile weakly, knowing that that is exactly how Draco would be. “But eventually Monsieur Malfoy became addicted to these potions, needing them to get by. None could blame him, of course, he was repeatedly abused by Zidler and patrons in ways we could scarcely imagine.” Leo paused slightly, his voice wavering as he hesitated to continue. “Monsieur Malfoy is undoubtedly addicted to these potions and- and an alcoholic too. I would advise you to approach him with caution, for he won’t be the same person you knew in school.” 

Harry felt rage bubbling inside of him. Draco was a prat, that much was true. But he did not deserve this. Of all the things they had both faced, Harry concluded that this was worse than Voldemort. Harry would fight Voldemort ten times over before stepping away from this case, damn past crushes, Draco deserved someone to fight for him for once. 

Harry looked to the elephant once more. Draco was still there. The blond was sat on the balcony and from what Harry could see, Draco held a glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Before he realised what he was doing, he had said to Leo that he would be back and his feet were carrying him out of the apartment and out towards the Moulin Rouge. 

He climbed the steps cautiously, the realisation of what he was doing crashing over him. This was all too much, he should turn back. But he didn’t. Harry was there now and he needed to confront Malfoy, to talk to him. He stood outside of the door for what felt like hours, but in reality, it was mere seconds. With a small nervous sigh, Harry knocked on the door. 

It took a few moments for him to hear movement within the room. He could hear Draco shuffling over to the door. He shouldn’t have come. There was every chance that Draco was shaking with fear, but coming to answer for fear of consequences. Harry was just about to turn back when he heard the familiar drawl. 

“Potter? What the hell do you want?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we goooooo! Another chapter!
> 
> I should note, I don't write Leo's French accent because I really, really suck at it and I really don't want to upset anyone with stereotypes!
> 
> Please feel free to comment, leave kudos, and share! I'd love to know your thoughts on this!

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! If you know Moulin Rouge, you'll realise that there are some discrepancies between the actual plot of the original piece, I've only adapted it to fit the idea in my head and have tried to keep it somewhat similar. 
> 
> Please keep in mind that there will be references to rape and sexual assault in future chapters due to the nature of the setting. I won't explicitly write them in, it will be references to what has happened to the dancers and 'Lustrous Draconis'. 
> 
> Many many thanks to [chaoticowlpost](https://chaoticowlpost.tumblr.com/) for beta'ing this fic! You can find her works [here on AO3!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiRa/pseuds/GiRa)


End file.
